Dear Aggie, I bought my girlfriend an expensive coffee machine for her birthday. First she cried, then she sold it on eBay. I don’t understand women.
Yours, Decaffeinated.
Dear Decaffeinated, the important question to ask yourself in any relationship is what does your partner want? What makes them happy? Without knowing all the details it’s impossible to know exactly why your girlfriend cried and sold the coffee machine, but the first question that comes to mind is—does your girlfriend drink coffee?
Molly stopped typing and glanced at the bed. “Are you awake? You have to listen to this one. It’s obvious he is a coffee drinker and the gift was really for him. Why do men do that? I’m so lucky to have you. Of course, if you ever sold my coffee machine on eBay, I’d have to kill you, but that won’t be the advice I’m posting online.”
The body on the bed didn’t stir, but that wasn’t surprising given the amount of exercise they’d both had the day before. The hours they’d spent in each other’s company had left her sweaty and exhausted. Her body ached, a reminder that although her fitness levels had increased since she met him, his stamina still surpassed hers. His relentless energy was one of the many things she admired about him. Whenever she was tempted to skip an exercise session, all it took was one look from him to have her reaching for her running shoes. He was the reason she’d lost weight since arriving in New York City three years earlier. Some days she looked in the mirror and barely recognized herself.
She looked slimmer and more toned.
Best of all she looked happy.
If someone from her old life walked in now, they probably wouldn’t recognize her.
Not that anyone from her old life was likely to show up on her doorstep.
Three years had passed. Three years, and she had finally rebuilt her shredded reputation. Professionally, she was back on track. Personally? She glanced at the bed again, feeling something soften inside her. She hadn’t imagined ever getting close to anyone again, certainly not close enough to let them into her life or her home, and definitely not her heart.
And yet here she was, in love.
She allowed her gaze to linger on the perfect lines of his athletic body, before returning her attention to her email. She was lucky so many men struggled to understand women. If they didn’t, she’d be out of a job.
Her blog, Ask a Girl, attracted a large volume of traffic and that, in turn, had attracted the attention of a publisher. Her first book, Mate for Life, Tools for Meeting Your Perfect Life Partner had hit the bestseller lists in both the US and the UK. That, in turn, had led to a second book deal, all under her pseudonym Aggie, which meant that she had both anonymity and financial security. She’d turned misfortune into a fortune. Well, maybe not a fortune exactly, but enough to enable her to live comfortably in New York City and not to have to limp back to London. She’d left one life and moved on to a new one, like a snake shedding its skin.
Finally, her past was exactly where it should be. Behind her. And she made a point of never looking in her rearview mirror.
Happy, she settled herself more comfortably in her favorite chair and shifted her focus to her laptop.
“Okay, Decaffeinated, let me show you where you’ve been going wrong.”
She started typing again.
A woman wants a man who understands her, and a gift should demonstrate that understanding. It isn’t about the value, it’s about the sentiment. Choose something that shows you know her, and that you listen to her. Choose something—
“And here’s the important part, Decaffeinated, so pay attention,” she muttered under her breath.
—something that no other person would think to buy her, because no one knows her like you do. Do that, and I guarantee your girlfriend will remember that birthday forever. And she’ll remember you.
Satisfied that if the man listened to her advice he might have a half-decent chance of pleasing the woman he loved, Molly reached for her glass of filtered water and checked the time on her laptop. Time for her morning run. And she didn’t intend to go alone. No matter how busy her working day, this was time they always spent together.
Shutting down her computer, she stood up and stretched, feeling the whisper of silk brush against her skin. She’d been typing for an hour while barely moving and her neck ached. She still had a stack of individual consultations waiting for her attention, but she’d deal with those later.
She glanced through the window, watching as darkness slowly melted away to be replaced by a wash of sunshine. For a moment the view was filled with streaks of burnt gold and the dazzle of glass. It was a city of sharp edges and towering possibilities, its darker side masked by the shimmer of sunshine.
Every other city would be waking up at this time, but this was New York. You couldn’t wake up, when you’d never been to sleep.
She dressed quickly, swapping pajamas for a soft T-shirt, Lycra leggings and her favorite dark purple running shoes. At the last moment she grabbed a sweatshirt because an early spring morning in New York City could still bite through a layer of clothing.
Scooping her hair into a careless ponytail, she reached for a water bottle.
There was still no movement from the bed. He lay in a tangle of bedding, eyes closed, not stirring.
“Hey, handsome.” Amused, she nudged him. “Did I finally wear you out yesterday? That’s a first.” He was in his prime. Fit and shockingly attractive. When they ran together in the park, heads turned in envy and it made her glow with pride because they could look, but she was the one who got to go home with him.
In this world where it was almost impossible to find the right person, she’d found someone who was protective, loyal and affectionate, and he was all hers. She knew, deep in her heart, that she could depend on him. She knew, even without marriage vows, that he was going to love her in sickness